Thursday, May 01, 2014

He
quietly placed his head on Vidya’s lap as he lied on sofa. She turned her face
towards him and strings of curly hair came on her face. She was wearing a big
red bindi, her cheeks were not thin as they used to be and her petite frame of
adolescence had given way to graceful womanly shape. She looked at him
thoughtfully, resting her chin on her palm. Her bangles clinked while doing
that. She probably wanted to say something but just stared and gave a smile.
Her dimple looked exactly the same.

‘Write
something different this time, something not inspired from our story.’ Aniket guessed
her words.

The
wall just behind the sofa was covered with their photographs, bright happy
moments of their past, neatly set up in black outlined frame. Vidya had
personally selected each of them.

The
picture on the topmost left was a school group photograph. Vidya dutifully
played the ‘guess where I am’ with anyone who was ready to play. It was a
typical school photographs devoid of fun, with teacher sitting at front and children
sitting or standing behind in a row. No one smiled in the photograph. A blue
banner at the background read:

Class
VI B, Sacred Heart Convent School

August,
1998

It
was the year when she got admitted to his school. She was the daughter of new
District Collector and her sitting posture, erect, proud and full of grace bore
testimony to that. She became new star of the school and he never gathered
courage to speak to her for next three years. That was the reason he wrote his
first story; to express what he could never say.

It
was an honest story written with naiveté and the school magazine did not find it
worthy of being published. Vidya, being the ornamental ‘student editor’ on the
editorial board found it labelled ‘Not suitable for kids’ and read it for
curiosity’s sake. That day when he was
sitting alone, she came and said ‘Promise that I will be the first one to read whatever
you wrote’. There was something in her eyes which told they had known each
other for years.

He
came rushing whenever he came up with anything new. He loved to observe her
facial expressions while she read; clear symmetric lines appearing on her
beautiful face. That was enough reward for his work.

As
years went by, a bond emerged between them which people termed love. They found
it a blend of camaraderie, trust and craving for each other. Her father, who
had retired by this time, did not approve. Aniket was not affluent and her
father saw no future in him. ‘You are going to repent one day. He writes childish
love letters in garb of stories and I will not let you ruin your life for a
struggling wordsmith.’

Time
passed by and it became difficult to keep count of publishers who rejected his
work. Only Vidya kept him going and just when it appeared that everything was
lost, his first book got published. It was a story of hatred, not love. The
protagonist was struggling middle aged writer who found inspiration in a
beautiful teenage girl. It was a dark story and the writer was possessive and cruel.
He followed this girl wherever she went but she could never notice him. Her
beauty increased every day and young men who proposed her multiplied
exponentially. These young men also vanished without leaving a trace, and she
was always left alone. As the story progressed it was difficult to decide what was
more intense, his longing for this girl or his hatred for anyone she loved. When
the story ended, countless corpses were scattered in writer’s chateau.

Vidya
gave this book to her father to read and he consented to their wedding. After
his first book got published, he never looked back. There was a rush amongst
publishers to print his old work and he was termed as king of romance. His best
work was inspired from his life. His latest book got him the prestigious Palm Award
and an honorary PhD. That was a year back. Slowly he found difficult to
concentrate and was never happy with whatever he wrote.

‘You
know Vidya, I am aware of my mediocrity. This world is going to brand me
failure.’

‘You
are again stuck in Writers Block, you need a good break.’ He did not recall if
she actually said it or just meant to say. They hardly needed words to communicate.
Was this perfect union of man and wife? This finality did not comfort him. Why
was he so restless at the height of his success?

‘I
think I have given this world whatever I had and it’s time to leave. I want you
to hold me tight, I feel very lonely.’ Aniket said. There were tears in his
eyes. She had never seen him like this. He shrunk on the sofa like an old man. There
was a melancholic smell in the room, something which could have been labelled
as the smell of death, and she was determined to ignore it.

‘Aniket,
you have always bounced back with an amazing story. Do you recall the story
that wrote about your proposal? It was really wonderful.’ His eyebrows relaxed after
hearing that. He loved whenever she talked about his work. ‘I loved how the
character wooed this girl, taking her on long drives in his dilapidated fiat
and the manner in which he lighted his house with scented candles before hanging
upside down to propose.’

‘And
then the house caught fire from those candles.’ Finally a smile came on his
face.

She
kept on talking about his stories and he maintained his smile. He forgot if she
was talking about his writing or story of their lives. She talked about the
night when they made love for the first time. He could feel that scorching
summer heat and her tender skin. She talked about his love of her fragrance and
his longing for her. He tried to decipher if it was love or lust. Both appeared
to be the same thing. He thought about their nights on the terrace when they
endlessly chatted till the dawn came, the sound of the trains passing nearby
tracks and wind gushing in before the rains.

She
mentioned strain in their relationship when she got busy with her work and
their fiery debates if they should have kids. He then remembered their
stillborn child, a lifeless lump of flesh and bones; and her tears which came
every day for years after that. Moments of his life, of pride and embarrassment,
of companionship and solitude, of love and his loss flashed before his eyes. It
appeared that today was the judgement day. His life was being telecasted and
someone was to pronounce judgement. Everything was in compartments, neat,
isolated compartments and his eyes kept on moving between them. He was watching
the moments and also living them. He could feel each moment’s joy and pain and whenever
he tried to look for her, Vidya was standing next to him. He couldn’t remember
the face of his mother and it had blurred with Vidya’s face. He felt that she was his mother goddess.

Noise
of shrill doorbell broke his trance.

‘You
slept few hours back.’ Vidya was sitting still, lest she disturbed his sleep. She
gently kissed his cheeks and asked him to open the door.

‘Hello
Bhabhi’ Harish said as he entered the room. He was Aniket’s childhood friend.

‘Aniket
you should allow Bhabhi at least some sleep at night.’ He had noticed their red
eyes and never missed an opportunity to tease.

‘I
will get some tea.’ Vidya left the room sheepishly.

Morning
was different from the night before. Birds chirped loudly outside, a beam of
sunlight entered the room and everything looked changed. There was a calm
expression on Aniket’s face.

After
an awkward silence, Harish asked: ‘You have not told her anything?’

‘You
are not my judge.’ Aniket said staring at blank. ‘Is everything ready?’

‘Here
is your Visa for five years. Best of luck for your relocation to a new world,
you never deserved Vidya bhabhi’. He gave Aniket a disdainful look and threw
the documents at him. Vidya came with the tea which Harish quietly sipped and
left without saying goodbye to any of them.

The
day progressed just like any other day and in the afternoon they went to sleep.
When Vidya woke up in the evening, she found a note:

‘Dearest,

I know that you deserve
more than just a note. You merit everything that is worth in this world, but
then you married me; an unsure restless soul. I am
restless now and I do not know where to go. More than that, I know that cannot
stay at the same place. I do not have the courage to apologise to you; others
will never forgive me.

By the time you wake
up, I would have already started my journey for an unknown terrain. To begin
with, I am going to Colombia. Why Colombia, because I just found its name in
the newspapers and it was Marquez’s land; remember Marquez, you introduced his
writings to me.

I feel that my ideas,
my creativity is already dead; the thought is suffocating actually. I need life
to hit with a brick on my head. I want
to go to a place where I do not find your love. I want to get hurt, and I do
not want you to be there to protect me. I always loved you, and I love you now more
when I have the fear of losing you. I do not know if I will ever see you again
but let us hope that one day when everything is well, when we are young and madly
in love, we meet again.

Everyone will think
that I am mad but perhaps you will understand. I did not wish to die, I wanted
to live.

About Me

On a cold winter morning, foggy and dense, when I was small and the dreams were big, I heard whistle of a train. I wanted to watch the passing train but it was difficult to leave the warmth of old, rugged blanket and comforting embrace of my grandmom. Today I want to live it again. I try to tell it but it is difficult to say.
My blog is an alibi to discuss such things. I want to talk about simple pleasures, simple men and simple dreams. It is Just Simple!

Disclaimer

Please Note: All views expressed in this blog are personal and do not represent any organization whatsoever. The contents of the blog may or may not be true. I take care not to infringe copyrights but in case of any violation, kindly let me know. Read more here